


Tune-ups

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, PWP, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cars, like brothers, occasionally need a little love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tune-ups

**Author's Note:**

> It was late and I pooted out a thousand words of porn at magicbubblepipe's request. I don't know what I'm doing anymore, just take it. Also, I don't know jack-crap about cars, so I apologize for that.

             Sammy is up to his elbows in grease, bent under the Impala’s hood as he worked, the occasional instruction from Dean making his head perking up with rapt attention while Dean tossed out commands. There’s a smear of grease on his tanned cheek and his hands are coated with the stuff. He’d shucked off his over shirt when the work had gotten really messy and was now working in just a tank top.

            Dean had turned the ice chest in Sam’s direction, his knees open wide as he watched his little brother work on his baby, Sammy’s eyebrows knit in concentration. Dean’s lips closed around the mouth of his beer and he took a slow, hard pull, eyes on Sam all the while.

            Sam hadn’t looked up in a while, so the painfully obvious tent in Dean’s jeans had gone unnoticed. Eye half lidded, Dean watched Sammy from behind, appreciating the curve of ass in his tight jeans and the oil stains on his skin.

            “I got a great view from back here, Sammy.” Dean called out, the smirk audible in his voice. The “Oh fuck you.” That’s called back has him grinning and he shifts his hips, the rasp of jean on his heated skin a certain kind of pleasurable agony.

            “If you play your cards right, pretty boy, just maybe.” There’s laughter in his voice, laughter and a husky tone that had Sam’s head jerking around to look at Dean.

             “You’re the one with the pretty mouth Dean, not me.” Sam tosses back sardonically, eyes quickly taking in the scene before him before he ducks his head back under the hood, purposefully curving his back so his ass is on full display.

              “You naughty little minx.” Dean growls out roughly, taking another gulp of beer to cover the hitch in his breath. From anyone else that line would have killed any and every mood, but coming from Dean it does things to Sammy’s cock that should be illegal in all of the states. Technically, it is, but Sam purposefully doesn’t acknowledge that little fact.

            Dean knows from experience that Sam’s skin would be slick under his hands, harder to hold onto, and that to get a real good hold on him he’d have to grip him tight enough to bruise. Despite the heat, Dean shudders.

            “Did you seriously just call me a minx?” Sam asks with severe incredulity, voice gone a wee bit ragged, the look he tosses Dean’s way downright bitchy.

            “Sure did, buttercup, now get your delicate ass over here so I can put my pretty mouth to good use.” Dean says cheekily, waggling his eyebrows and going from being so hot that Sam can barely fucking stand it to complete and utter doofus in about three seconds flat.

            The change is both astounding and impressive.

            Sam gives him a withering look and snatches up the grease rag he’s got nearby, done with Baby’s tune up and ready for a cold one. At an easy, almost lazy pace, he makes his way over to the icebox, and Dean, sweat causing the fabric to stick.

            Dean gets up long enough for Sam to get a beer, prompted by the sharp kick Sam had aimed at him, and then sits back down. From where he sits, his face is about level with the front of Sam’s jeans, which are straining around the beginnings of an erection.

            Dean gives Sam a grin that’s mostly teeth and brings the beer back to his lips, tongue tracing the rim before he downs the rest of his beer in four easy pulls. Sam’s eyes never once leave Dean’s face while he watches the show, the line of his cock easily discernible by the time Dean’s done.

            The hiss of a bottle opening breaks the silence and Sam takes a swig, expression casual, eyes still locked with Dean’s. Dean tosses his empty bottle into the garbage can without taking his eyes off the movement of Sammy’s throat as he swallows.

            The bottles barely away from his lips before Dean’s hands are gripping his hips, hauling him closer and sliding around to give his ass an unforgiving squeeze. Sam’s gasps, hands gripping Dean’s sweaty hair and holding as best they can.

            Dean’s face is buried right up against his clothed cock and Sam groans low in his throat as a hot tongue laves the front his pants. Dean grins, looking up Sammy with smug fondness, and closes his mouth over the head of Sam’s dick, jean rough against his tongue.

            Sam’s chest is heaving, heat and arousal making his heart pound and he barely has time to choke another groan before Dean’s hands are shoving down his jeans and boxers. Dean’s mouth closes over him, searing and messy, and Sam’s toes curl inside his boots, teeth grit around the steady throb of arousal.

            Dean’s lips, red and full around his shaft, is one of the best damn things he’s ever seen. That coupled with the way Dean takes him deep and keeps making little hungry sounds around Sam’s cock is enough to have him coming down Dean’s throat.

            “Oh fuck, Dean.” Sam gasps out, hunched over Dean’s head while Dean’s throat swallows around him.

            Dean doesn’t need the warning Sammy gives him and swallows down ever last drop of cum, palming himself at an almost brutal pace through the denim of his jeans. Sam’s panting above him, knees gone week, and has barely enough sense left to slide himself from Dean’s perfect fucking mouth and drop to his knees, hand closing tightly over Dean’s and jacking him hard.

            That and the feral kiss Sammy gives him is enough to have Dean cumming, right in his jeans like a horny teenager. Sam’s entire frame shivers as a stray bead of cum, his cum, transfers from Dean’s lips to his, the wrecked moan breathed into Dean’s mouth pulling the last few shudders of his orgasm from him.

            When he finally catches his breath, sort of, Sam gasps out, voice slurred “I’d say we put those lips of yours to good use, wouldn’t you?” Only to have Dean grin widely against his mouth and give Sam’s forehead a hard bump with his own. The resultant “ouch!” makes him laugh boisterously and ruffle Sam’s hair.

            “Sure did, Sammy,” Dean replies with a rogue grin, rising lazily and with all the air of a satisfied tom cat “you can return the favor later.” Sam’s still on his knees in front of the cooler, looking dazed and happy. “And once you get your sea legs back princess, you can change her oil.” Dean calls back over his shoulder as Bobby’s screen door slams.

            Dean can hear Sam’s groan of dismay from all the way inside. The nice, cold shower he takes after is made all the more sweet by the thought of his darling baby brother, out in the heat, working his ass off. 


End file.
